


A Man of Patience

by lucyrne (theungenue)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Card Games, Class Differences, F/M, Fade to Black, First Impressions, Fluff and Humor, Gift Giving, Opposites Attract, Orzammar Culture and Customs, Partners to Lovers, Pre-Canon, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/pseuds/lucyrne
Summary: Getting in bed with a magister—in the business sense—can be advantageous for a surface dwarf. Maevaris Tilani isn’t quite a magister, but she’s an investment Thorold Tethras is confident will pan out in his favor.If she doesn’t drive him and the entire Ambassadoria mad first.
Relationships: Thorold Tethras/Maevaris Tilani
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17
Collections: 2020 A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	A Man of Patience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Current_Resident](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Current_Resident/gifts).



> Tired: Maevaris says Thorold was "so patient" with her because he was a calm, gentle man.  
> Wired: Thorold was often a hair's breadth away from losing his shit with Maevaris, but held it in because pretty gorl. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun fleshing out Thorold and imagining what might happen when his down-to-earth personality meets Maevaris' magnificence! Let this fic be the romantic comedy prologue of this obscure, tragic dwarf romance <3

**9:33 Dragon**

Thorold Tethras had stayed at the dwarven embassy every other month for three years before he finally said sod it—the rent was too damn expensive in this blighted cave! Better to _own_ an entire tavern, where he could launder money outside Tevinter borders and find a soft, free bed waiting for him whenever he journeyed below ground.

His cousin Bartrand had called the venture full of sod, but that had always been the difference between the two butting heads of House Tethras. Bartrand only saw gold when it was close enough to grab by the fist. Thorold took the long view. Hands shaken today could put coin in his pocket in a year (or five, or ten), and lucrative investments needed time to grow before they paid. One merely needed to wait until the right moment to cash out.

Since Bartrand was dead and Thorold was not, he had a feeling his way was the better of the two.

Thorold boarded a lift in the dwarven consulate in Minrathous and rode it down, down, down into the earth. Beneath the Tevinter capital lay an entire dwarven town, teeming with well-to-do noble caste dwarves safely enmeshed in their Stone. The elevator came to a shuddering halt, and Thorold emerged with a sigh, hoisting his luggage over his shoulder. Most Ambassadoria representatives hired lower-caste helpers to carry their bags for them, but Thorold was a thickly-built, strong man who never paid random dusters to complete tasks he could do himself. Other Ambassadoria representatives also wore their status on their sleeves as conspicuously as possible, with elaborate jewels woven into their facial hair and gold embroidered upon their clothes. Thorold preferred a simple green tunic. His wealth of vibrant red hair and soft russet beard, free of fancy braids and shiny baubles, granted him all the flash he needed.

It was evening, and the embassy streets had already emptied of market stalls and passersby. Thorold went into an alley between two crooked buildings and followed it until he found a rounded wooden door built into the cavern wall, muffling sounds of laughter, music, and merriment: the Gaudy Gimlet, the hole in the wall tavern Thorold had purchased against his late cousin’s advice all those years ago.

Thorold shouldered through the tavern’s heavy door, too travel-weary and troubled to do more than nod to the barmaid as he set down his bags. A group of men playing cards whooped at the bar, and Thorold squeezed by two or three rowdy tables as he made his way to the back of the taproom. He wanted nothing more than to sit in his private booth and enjoy a tankard of pitch black beer, the kind they didn’t sell up on the surface. Relax a little before contemplating the problems that may be brewing in Kirkwall.

Except when he made it to the leather booth snug in the back corner, Thorold found a woman sitting in his seat.

A human woman.

A _mage._

“Finally,” she said, rising to her feet, “my savior.”

She was tall and slender, at least in her mid-twenties, with a halo of champagne blonde tresses arranged in large, sensuous waves that curled around her face and swooped over her right eye. Her deep blue gown hugged her upper torso and flared out at the waist, and a dramatic neckline lined with fur framed the gentle slope of her neck. She wore no staff, but her dress and accessories were adorned with bright stones and crystals mages often wore to enhance their abilities. A slit reaching up to her midthigh teased smooth, creamy legs that lasted an Age, but Thorold only caught a glimpse before the lady shifted between her feet and the fabric fluttered closed.

“If you need directions to Minrathous, it’s six leagues above your head,” Thorold said to her briskly.

Her laugh sounded sweet and smooth, like honey simmered and stirred into single malt whisky. “I am exactly where I mean to be. Maevaris Tilani,” she presented her hand palm down to display her many rings, “Magister of the Imperial Senate.”

Tilani—Thorold knew that name. Topside in Minrathous, tongues wagged mercilessly about Athanir Tilani, publicly executed last year on charges thin as nug skin, and his heir Maevaris, who declared herself a woman when others whined otherwise. However, these supposed scandals concerned Thorold far less than the brazen half-truth she had just told him.

“A pleasure,” Thorold looked down at her extended hand, but made no movement to kiss her fingers, “though from what I hear, you are no magister yet.”

Maevaris’ lips thinned, and her extended hand retreated to run through her blonde curls. “You’re well-informed,” she said. “Good, that saves us time.”

Thorold sat on the other end of the booth and withdrew his pipe from his satchel. He ignored Maevaris for a time to pack it with tobacco and light it with his tinderbox. Only after he took a puff and exhaled a stream of smoke through his nose did he gesture for Maevaris to join him.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“The Imperial Senate is ransacking my family estate as we speak to seize my inheritance,” Maevaris explained, sliding into the booth. “As you are aware, they are refusing me my title as well. I need somewhere to lay low until this little issue is resolved. Somewhere they can’t get away with arresting me.”

“That’s all very interesting Lady Tilani, but why should I stick my neck out for a half-baked magister whose own people have turned against her?”

“You dwarves are constantly trying to forge alliances with senators. When I reclaim my rightful seat, I might consider such an arrangement with the man who spared me from homelessness. I also hear that key players in the lyrium trade are withdrawing from you, wondering if you’re born from the same tainted vein as your dearly departed cousin. My condolences, by the way.”

Thorold raised a bushy eyebrow. “You’re well-informed, too.”

Maevaris’ painted lips pulled into a smirk. “Both of us are in positions more precarious than we’d like. I think we can help each other.”

Thorold leaned back and traced a fingertip along his mustache. He didn’t believe for a rock-licking second this woman had any real money. Would-be magisters didn’t scurry underground and hole up at common taverns if they could afford to go elsewhere. However, Maevaris Tilani did have a reputation for rewarding her allies handsomely—and for punishing her enemies with prejudice. Might be prudent to get on her good side, play the savior until she became more useful.

Plus as Maevaris herself observed, her true value as an ally lay not in what she had but in what she _was:_ a mage whose birthright entitled her to a position in the Imperial Senate. This was the kind of opportunity his competitors begged their ancestors for, and she had walked right in here and offered it to him for almost nothing. Just a bed to sleep in. With the upfront costs so low and the potential profit so high, Thorold would be dumb as dust to refuse.

And what she said about Bartrand...Thorold had hoped that news hadn’t become public in Tevinter yet. He disliked his late cousin, but his loss put the family and its network of businesses in a difficult position. If the legacy members of the Ambassadoria caught a whiff of weakness, if they thought the status-grubbing surfacer stubbornly climbing their ranks stood on loose sand...

“You caught me in a generous mood, Lady Tilani.” Thorold finally extended his hand to her in good faith. “Thorold Tethras, your new associate.”

As Maevaris leaned forward to shake his hand, their eyes met. Hers were as grey blue as a clear morning sky after a night of nonstop thunder. Power and calm blended into one bottomless color.

Thorold found his wits and cleared his throat. “You can stay here,” he said, “but I ask you to just remember one thing. When I’m in town, this is my _private_ booth.”

Maevaris chuckled. “I won’t be here long enough for that to be an issue. You'll forget I was ever here.”

* * *

Maevaris Tilani would be stuck in the dwarven embassy for the better part of a year.

Those first few weeks, Thorold did indeed forget the mage was living on his property. She kept to her room in the Gaudy Gimlet, emerging only to order food downstairs or dispatch a messenger to run letters to Minrathous. Word on the surface was that while Maevaris had challenged the seizure of her inheritance, her enemies saw the issue banished to a senate committee that only met a few times a year. It would be a while yet before she even had the opportunity to argue her case, let alone reclaim what she had lost. Somewhere in between Thorold’s constant Ambassadoria sessions, meetings, and errands, Maevaris settled in for the long haul.

Then the trouble began.

Several dwarves awoke to strange and alarming noises outside their homes, an odd, yet sweet twittering echoing amongst the cavern’s stalactites, the occasional fluttering of wings between slate rooftops. One merchant spotted a little blue creature with a pointed crest and small beady eyes perched on a lamp post. The creature spread its wings and took to the air as the dwarf looked on in terror, fluttering right at him before dissipating into a cloud of magic. The truth finally emerged—songbirds were loose in the embassy!

The embassy’s tight-knit community immediately pointed fingers at Maevaris, who admitted to conjuring the spectral animals in a fit of boredom.

“I thought the locals might appreciate the beautiful music,” she said to Thorold, oblivious to the thick vein bulging on his forehead. “Besides, nothing drives me cuckoo quite like endless silence.”

The next incident occurred in the embassy’s ancient library, where Maevaris ventured to find an interesting book to occupy her time. A bored Mae was prone to become a mischievous Mae. While browsing the stacks, an Ambassadoria representative’s elderly mother made a sly comment about the size of Maevaris’ feet. Gossips breathlessly recounted the mage’s haughty reply: “At least my feet are proportional to the rest of me. You? I could sail across the Waking Sea in one of your shoes.” The noblewoman cried over the indignity of it for days.

Letters of complaint steadily piled up in Thorold’s mailbox. Ignoring them solved nothing, so it became Thorold’s custom to lumber up to the Gaudy Gimlet’s second floor, wrap on Maevaris’ door, and resolve himself to an awkward conversation with the most vexatious woman he had ever met.

Maevaris answered the door in no more than a sheer gossamer dressing gown. Her blonde curls were wrapped in a scarf. She leaned against the door jamb, too tall to really fit in the doorway but utterly nonplussed by such an insignificant detail. That Maevaris could flirt with poverty and political exile, strip away her fine jewels and gowns, and yet _still_ possess unmatched poise both impressed and irritated Thorold. For all her potential as a magister, Maevaris Tilani was a risky bet that required time and perseverance to pay off, and instead of enjoying Thorold’s hospitality as a quiet and respectful guest, Maevaris kept attracting new scandals to his door.

Didn’t she know how close to ruin she tread? When Thorold had struck out on his own, a surface dwarf with nothing but a disgraced name and a younger brother to feed, he never behaved so thoughtlessly, _especially_ to his allies. He knew better than that! Why did this would-be magister think she was above caution and common sense?

“Thorold!” Maevaris exclaimed with mock astonishment. “Back to scold me again?”

Thorold pushed back his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Now Mae, you know I don’t relish these chats of ours.”

“Oh, _I_ certainly do. What’s my crime now? I’ve been ever so well-behaved recently, and what happened wasn’t my fault! How was I to know dates didn’t agree with her?”

This was the first Thorold had heard of anyone disagreeing with any dates. He rubbed his face from his forehead to the end of his beard. Tomorrow a new letter would be waiting for him, and Great Ancestors would he need a drink when he finally read it.

“Mae, whatever it is you have done, it won’t be happening again. Clear?”

“As a lyrium crystal.”

Maevaris waved goodbye with a flutter of her fingers before retreating into her abode.

Her public hijinks bothered Thorold far less than the small habits he witnessed in private. She threw out perfectly fine food after a few nibbles merely because she no longer fancied it. She regularly confused tavern patrons enjoying a drink with the staff members who poured them, an embarrassing flub in Orzammar society, and acted flippant when told of her mistake. She expected acts of common decency, such as having her chair pulled out or the door held for her, without ever offering the same. Maevaris just didn’t know how to live like she had nothing left.

Thorold said as much to his younger brother Vidar when he next returned to the surface. They dined together to read their cousin Varric’s latest letters and discuss different corners of the business, but Thorold could talk of nothing but Maevaris, his enigmatic ‘investment.’

“I don’t understand why everyone thinks I’m responsible for this woman,” Thorold said, waving around his dinner roll.

Vidar snorted. “She lives rent-free in your bar.”

“She’s a magister! And I have a business to run. I can’t be expected to control her when I split my time between up here and down there.”

“Then stay in one place. I’ll handle our affairs topside while you keep an eye on your fluffy-haired investment down below.”

Though Thorold had spent their entire conversation leading up to the same suggestion, he felt annoyed his younger brother had voiced it first. “I could stay longer at the embassy,” he replied, “but what then? I’m not a charity Vidar. You’re too young to remember, but when _we_ were starving in the gutter, nobody lent a single coin to help us.”

“But don’t you wish someone did?”

Vidar had gazed at the clouds so much as a boy that his head got permanently stuck up there. He dreamed as well as a dwarf could, staring out a window in the daytime when other people were busy making coin and running the world. Self-made people like Thorold. Vidar simply didn’t understand how it felt to be cast out of Orzammar, sundered from their own culture, divested of every piece of their identity and wealth and told to quit crying and survive.

But Maevaris...the pain haunting Thorold’s past was her present, and there was no end in sight. Did he really have the stomach to watch her struggle stone-faced, as so many had done to him?

“Perhaps,” Thorold finally said, tearing into his bread at last.

Some days later, Thorold cut his visit short and returned underground for the foreseeable future.

* * *

A tall shadow crossed over Thorold as he examined a bolt of fabric. He looked up and saw Maevaris Tilani, resplendent in a fur cloak, stooping into the market stall and looming over him while she did her own shopping. They greeted one another, and Thorold offered to escort her back to the Gaudy Gimlet. To his ever-present surprise, she agreed.

In recent weeks, Thorold had made special effort to talk with Maevaris. Get to know her, learn exactly who he was protecting and whether it was worth it, and stop chiding her all the time like a child. He thought he noticed Maevaris trying harder not to draw the ire or every dwarf in range, but given the letters he still received occasionally from angry locals, it was a work in progress.

Striding down the cobbled street, they were an odd pair: Thorold, wooly-haired dwarf whose plain garb belied his overflowing wealth, and Maevaris, willowy human heiress with extravagant clothes but not a coin of her own. Several heads turned as they made their way, but neither took much notice.

“I’ve written to your cousin,” Maevaris declared.

“You _wrote my cousin?_ ” Thorold felt a mild flare of irritation, but exhaled through his nose to stamp it out. “Why?!”

“He’s an author! Why shouldn’t I write to him? Besides, I thought he might tell me more about what you do for fun when you’re not working day and night. Varric suggested hair braiding.”

Thorold took a large step to the left mid-stride. “Did he."

Her curls bounced as she laughed merrily. “Thorold, don’t think me so socially inept that I would braid that lusciously rugged beard of yours without permission! Your cousin is entertaining, but hardly trustworthy.”

“People generally like that about him.”

Thorold preferred to keep his younger cousin at a distance, which was easily done since Varric stubbornly loved Kirkwall too much to leave. He was a good sort, but made decisions using his heart, balls, and brain in that exact order. Not the most reliable of business partners. To his credit, however, Varric had filled Bartrand’s shoes and smoothed things over in Kirkwall handily, so perhaps he possessed greater potential after all. Thorold did feel a small thrill of vindication that Maevaris hadn’t fallen for Varric’s charm. Women like that were hard to find.

“I like to relax with a good game of Diamondback,” Thorold said. “Do you know it?”

“Heard of it, never played. Is it like Wicked Grace?”

“Find me in my booth when I’m not busy, and maybe I’ll teach you how to play.”

Maevaris glanced at him through the corner of her eye. “Maybe I’d like that.”

For the next several days, Thorold brought his Diamondback deck with him to the taproom, hopeful that Maevaris would flit over to his booth and distract him from his ledgers. When she finally appeared to take him up on his offer, Thorold tried not to move too hastily as he shuffled his papers away and doled out the cards for their first game.

Ale and wine flowed freely. They shared a laugh, and Mae reached across the booth to shove him lightly on the shoulder. Thorold’s usual armor of stubborn practicality softened. In between Diamondback rounds, the two of them asked questions about almost anything they could think of to entertain and distract each other. What possessed Thorold to buy the Gaudy Gimlet? What was Maevaris’ father like? What kind of man was Vidar? Did Maevaris have any suitors above ground?

“My social life has slowed to a crawl since moving to the embassy,” Maevaris replied breezily. “Not one man has taken me in a dwarfly fashion since I came here, you know. Sometimes I wonder why I bother staying in this hole.”

“You know Mae, I’ve wondered that myself,” Thorold said. He flipped his two cards—a Shaper and a Warrior, one of the best hands possible in Diamondback—while chatting along. “The surface is vast, and a lady as resourceful as yourself could carve a nice life just about anywhere. Why stay close to Minrathous? Is the wealth and power of being a magister too great to leave on the table?” He asked the last question with a note of mockery, fully aware that the answer was dreadfully obvious even to a nug.

But Mae surprised him. “It’s not about the wealth or the power.” She flipped her own cards, revealing another Shaper and a King. The one hand that could beat his! “It’s about sticking it to the bastards.”

She collected her winnings with a sweep of her hand, throwing a taunting smirk his way made Thorold’s blood warm. He began to reshuffle the deck, his mood coming down slightly as something occurred to him.

“Did I say something you disapproved of again, Thorold?” Maevaris asked.

“Actually I’m realizing we’re more alike than I thought,” he replied.

“Really? But you’re more different from me than anyone I’ve ever met. Do tell.”

“That’s why I stay, too.”

Thorold stared down at his cards without truly seeing them. Instead he saw the sky as he did as a shivering boy, oppressive and terrifying and ready to swallow him up and leave nothing behind.

“I was just five years old when my family came to the surface,” he said, “Everyone we knew turned their backs on us. To treat us as if we had died would’ve been a mercy. People at least mourn and remember their dead. Our caste just pretended we didn’t exist and tossed us out of Orzammar like trash. It was years before anyone saw me.”

The brutal sky vanished, and instead Thorold envisioned the chagrined face of a crusty noble caste dwarf. Years ago, this man served on the Ambassadoria—until Thorold took his position. The nobleman had been stuck in a state of shock, disbelieving that his seat of power could be so handily wrestled away by an upstart surfacer with a name struck from the Memories. Thorold recalled shaking the man’s hand with a strong squeeze, feeling a surge of satisfaction as the nobleman squirmed. What a weak sod of a man. He had felt so comfortable and invincible in his caste and riches that he hadn’t seen the deep crawler hanging above his head, waiting patiently to strike. In that moment, Thorold Tethras knew he had become dangerous, and the rest of the Ambassadoria would soon know it too.

“They have no choice but to see me now,” Thorold said, grinning even wider now. “I made sure of it.”

Maevaris stared forward with glazed eyes, no doubt envisioning the villains of her own life. To have her father killed under false pretenses, then her very identity challenged in the same year, left her with a senate’s worth of enemies Thorold couldn’t dream of standing against on his own. Her gaze cleared and her eyes snapped to his, and the ferocity in them stole the breath out of Thorold’s chest.

“How does it feel to finally be seen?” Maevaris asked in a low voice.

Thorold felt himself pulled towards her. “More intoxicating than any wine I’ve ever tasted,” he said.

“I’ll make the Senate see me, too.” A fire ignited and shone through the hard line of Maevaris’ mouth, the rigidity of her shoulders, the resolute crease in her brows, and Thorold felt like she would consume him if he looked too long. “I’ll die before I let them pretend I don’t exist.”

Thorold’s arms and neck broke into goose flesh. He had been a hundred times a fool to ever think of Maevaris Tilani as a thoughtless, selfish damsel he had to save. Even without her fortune and title, Mae was a glorious storm of a woman. She carried a power inside her, endless as the sky and angry as the tides, that could flatten a man lacking in the strength to weather it. No ambition in the worlds above or below was more treacherous—or more beautiful. He reached across the booth to take her hand.

“Mae,” Thorold said, “they are fools to try.”

* * *

Thorold wrapped upon Maevaris’ door with the back of his knuckles, a parcel tucked under his arm. His heart pounded a steady beat in his chest. Made no sense—this was his tavern! He could visit whatever guests he liked, whenever he liked. Anyways, he used to knock on Maevaris’ door all the time to chat. This visit would be no different.

When Maevaris answered the door and saw him, her face fell. “Maker’s breath, what is it now? I really have been a model citizen. Whatever they’re saying, I’m innocent!”

“I’m not here to scold you, Mae.” Thorold withdrew the gift, wrapped in brown paper and secured shut with a twine bow. “I, uh. Brought you something.”

Maevaris gasped with delight and ushered him into her room. She whisked the package out of his hands and directed him to sit on a plush ottoman while she unwrapped her present. Her room looked entirely different from the others in his tavern. Maevaris had decorated the standard tavern furniture with scarves and lace, and clothes and jewels poured out of every overstuffed drawer. At some point, she had also replaced her bedding with something more plush and expensive. Thorold wondered how soft it was, then yanked on his own beard to keep his mind from wandering into uninvited places.

“Please tell me it’s a loaf of freshly baked bread made with real wheat instead of lichen,” Maevaris said. She danced between her feet, gently shaking the package and listening for any sounds inside.

Thorold shifted uneasily in his seat. “Nothing so provincial.” Perhaps his gift was not the kind she would want?

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s wonderful. You have good taste, even if you dress like you don’t have an embarrassment of riches at your disposal.”

He barked a laugh. “Not one for gratitude, are you Mae?”

“Only because I haven’t opened it yet. Do be patient, Thorold.”

Maevaris tore at the paper. She let the wrapping fall to the floor and examined a leather jewelry case secured with a small golden latch. Shooting a suspicious glance towards Thorold, Maevaris popped it open. Her jaw dropped, and with a little gasp she fell back into a chair.

Nestled upon the velvet lay a seven-strand pearl choker with a deep blue sapphire pendant at its center. Though difficult to see against the gemstone’s dark coloring, it had been precisely carved with the Tilani family crest. Maevaris set the jewelry case down slowly, speechless and white.

“My father commissioned this for my mother.” Maevaris traced her fingertips against the pearls, equal parts joyous and disbelieving. “He left it to me, but I didn’t have a chance to claim it before…” She turned her face towards him. “How did you find this?”

Thorold explained that it had come up at auction in Minrathous, and under his direction Vidar obtained it for him. How it ended up in his brother’s possession he left vague. The important thing was that a small piece of her fortune had been reclaimed, the first of many he was sure. Besides—Thorold grew slightly rosy-cheeked at this admission—it was pretty.

Gift giving was not a strength of his. Everything was tit for tat in the embassy, even among Thorold’s most solid allies, but Maevaris had ceased being a mere ‘ally’ long ago. Since their Diamondback game, he had felt compelled to show her this somehow. Vidar, of course, had teased him for going soft. Feeling aglow just from watching Mae open the gift, Thorold privately conceded that his brother was right.

“I must try it on,” Maevaris said. She gently lifted it from its case and dragged her chair towards a vanity. “Thorold, could you help—?”

Thorold obliged and stood behind her. In the mirror, his chin just cleared the top of her blonde head. He briefly wondered what this scene must look like to an outsider, before deciding what others thought could go straight to the Void. Swallowing hard, he took the pearls from her and moved to lay them across her collarbone. His knuckles brushed her skin, drawing out a soft flush. The delicious tension building between them made it hard to think. He prayed to Ancestors he hadn’t thought of since leaving Orzammar that his hands would quit trembling.

Maevaris watched him through the mirror, her chest rising and falling in a deep, but steady rhythm. Her eyes carried a look Thorold knew well—the look of passionately wanting something. And they were trained solely on him.

“I expend so much energy trying to shape myself into someone glamorous,” Maevaris said. “But you, you make me feel so, so—”

Her breath caught when Thorold brushed her blonde locks to the side. With great care, he finished fastening the necklace at the nape of her neck. The pearls shone against her smooth skin, and the sapphire enhanced the blue of Mae’s bottomless eyes. A magister’s fallen daughter, an upstart dwarf from a disgraced house, their differing backgrounds belied cores that thrummed in perfect unison.

Maevaris released a shaky breath. “ _Delicate_.”

Thorold held her gaze in the mirror. His chest felt empty, yet full to the brim with warmth.

“You are a delicacy, Maevaris.”

A man of patience knew both when to wait and when to act. When Maevaris twisted around to face him, Thorold was already moving to meet her. Her lavender scent pulled him forward. He kissed her gently at first, until the taste of her tongue and lipstick sent a surge of desire through him. Maevaris returned his kiss as she did most things, by sinking her fingers into his beard and pulling him into a kiss so ferocious, they lost balance and tumbled to the floor in a breathless tangle.

Rather than snap or scold, Thorold guffawed and lost himself in her endless slopes and crevices.

Maevaris never did utter the words ‘thank you,’ but she made sure Thorold felt the sentiment keenly.

* * *

Thorold boarded the lift, hoisting his bag off his shoulder and setting it down at his feet with a grunt. A couple dwarves he had hired set down enormous pieces of luggage packed with women’s clothing, careful to spread them out in order distribute weight evenly across the elevator carriage. Thorold paid the porters and looked back towards the elevator landing just in time to watch Maevaris cross the threshold.

She cut a slim figure in her brand new gown, custom-made by a dwarven tailor. Like most of her clothes it was a shade of blue in order to enhance her eyes, but this one was darker than the glassy sea at midnight, and its open neckline was punctuated with her mother’s sapphire necklace. Maevaris had chosen this outfit carefully, for today was her grand debut.

No— _their_ debut.

Thorold grew misty-eyed. Though of course he wished Mae could’ve reclaimed her title and fortune far sooner, the results were well worth the wait.

“Ready to stick it to the bastards, my love?” he asked.

Maevaris held her chin aloft as she took position beside him. “They’re the ones who ought to be ready for us,” she said. “I do look forward to shaking things up again. Remember how it was when I first moved here to the embassy? Couldn’t even breathe without somebody’s grandmother complaining.”

The lift operators began their final preparations. A few moments more, and they would hurtle up, up, up to the surface. Thorold took Mae’s hand and squeezed.

“Will you miss it here?” Thorold asked.

“ _Kaffas,_ no!” As he started to laugh, Mae quickly added, “I’m bringing the best part of this place with me, so there’s nothing to miss. And I think you’ll find my accomodations in Ventus far superior to the Gaudy Gimlet. Not that that’s an especially high bar to clear.”

There was a loud _clang_. Cranking chains lifted the elevator. With one last lurching motion, the Maevaris Tilani, full-fledged Magister of the Imperial Senate, and her betrothed Thorold Tethras, ascended together to the surface.


End file.
